


The Case of the Taken Toddler

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Domestic, Family, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes likes challenging cases. But when it's his own son that's been kidnapped, he and John will stop at nothing to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hamish and Sherlock were both on the floor in the sitting room, playing with some wooden blocks with the periodic elements on them. John had no idea where Sherlock had found them, but his partner was enjoying explaining the elements to Hamish almost as much as Hamish enjoyed stacking up the blocks and knocking them down.

Sipping his tea, John made a few more notes for the blog. Things had slowed down considerably for them, but he’d never ask Sherlock to give up his work. Besides, with Mrs. Hudson just downstairs, they had a babysitter any time they wanted. And Hamish had taken to calling her Nana, which just made the woman’s heart melt every time.

The little boy had that effect on everyone. John was careful not to spoil him, but he had to keep a close eye on Sherlock. Hamish could charm treats out of the man with just a flash of his little dimples. The boy picked up a block and chucked it hard at his father.

Sherlock caught it and looked at Hamish, knowing John was watching. “What did we say about throwing things?”

“Um,” Hamish smiled up at him.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Hamish.”

Hamish met his eyes a moment, then looked back at the floor. “Don’t.”

“Right. Don’t throw things. You might hurt someone.” Sherlock stood up smoothly and headed for the kitchen. Hamish looked at his Papa.

“Put your blocks away, it’s almost supper,” said John.

He nodded and started putting the blocks in their box. John was glad he’d finally trained someone in this house to pick up after themselves. Most of the time. When Hamish finished John closed the laptop and walked over, picking him up and hugging him. “Thank you.”

“Love you, Papa.” Hamish kissed his cheek.

“I love you too.” John turned and saw Sherlock watching them with the softest smile on his face. John set Hamish down and walked over to kiss Sherlock.

Which was right when Mrs. Hudson walked in, bearing a steaming dish. She shook her head a bit, but smiled as she took it to the table. John blushed a bit, still not entirely used to people seeing him and Sherlock affectionate with each other, even though they’d been married nearly a year now.

“Nana!” Hamish tugged at her dress until she picked him up and kissed him. John chuckled and quickly set the table so the four of them could sit and eat.

After supper, Hamish sat and played on the floor while the adults drank some more tea and talked. After a while Mrs. Hudson took her dish back downstairs. “I’ll put Hamish to bed, you do the dishes,” smiled John.

Sherlock grumbled a bit, but gathered plates and cups. “Come on, time for bed.”

“Daddy story?” Asked Hamish. Sherlock reading to him was one of his favorite things.

“Maybe in a little bit.” John took his little hand and led him into the nursery. Sherlock had given up the downstairs room for Hamish. It had been painted a soft blue and there were more toys and books here. John got him some pajamas out of the wardrobe and helped Hamish change. Smiling at him, he watched Hamish climb between the covers, yawning.

John leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too,” another yawn. “Papa.”

John finished tucking him in and turned off the lights, leaving a soft night light going. Out in the sitting room Sherlock started playing something soft and gentle on his violin. John glanced at his son one more time, then went back to join him.

“Love you,” he said quietly to Sherlock as he curled up on the couch with a journal.

Sherlock just gave him another small smile and continued playing. The articles were dry and the violin was pretty and before too long John’s head fell forward.

Being kissed woke John up. He kissed Sherlock back and stretched, rubbing his shoulder. “Come on, love, let’s get to bed,” John yawned.

“You have already been asleep for some time,” said Sherlock, amusement in his voice.

“Just resting my eyes,” mumbled John, taking Sherlock’s hand as he turned off the lights and led John up to what was now their room. Sherlock helped John get changed in much the same way as John had helped Hamish earlier.

John curled up Sherlock’s chest, quickly falling back asleep, but not before he felt Sherlock kiss the top of his head. Sherlock wasn’t one for many verbal declarations of love, but John always knew how he felt.

Sometime later a noise woke him up. John sat up quickly, putting in the combination for the gun safe by the bed as Sherlock woke up. It was coming from downstairs, sounding like more than Hamish could produce, and John’s heart skipped. “I’ll see,” he told Sherlock, throwing on a robe and holding his gun carefully.

John stole down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could. The main flat was dark, save the streetlights, but John knew it perfectly. The sitting room was dark, but as he moved down the hall his heart stopped in his throat. The nursery door was open.

Terrified of what he’d find, John moved down the hall, forcing himself not to rush and trip over himself. Pushing the door open he looked to the bed. Dropping his gun to his side he cursed. “Sherlock! Hamish is gone!”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was by his side in a moment. John reached for the lights, but Sherlock stayed his hand. “Touch nothing,” he hissed, moving into the nursery. John watched, feeling sick as Sherlock looked over the room. “Window slightly ajar, but it’s meant to throw us off the scent. Went out the main door.” He turned and sprinted out of the room. John ran after him.

They reached the street in record time, but it stood empty in the darkness. Sherlock prowled around, looking for any signs. “I’ll call Lestrade,” said John after a few minutes of fruitless searching. Sherlock scoffed, but let John go back inside for his phone. As he dialed the number he realized his hands were shaking. By the time Lestrade’s tired voice answered he managed to calm himself enough to explain without breaking apart. Then he dressed and put the kettle on.

Lestrade arrived shortly after with more police. While they searched, Mrs. Hudson sat at their table, shaking her head and sipping the tea John was keeping fresh. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anything,” she told them, worry clear in her tone.

“It’s certainly not your fault,” said Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson just looked back at her tea.

John topped off everyone with a cup; it felt like the only thing he could do right now. Sherlock was making wide circles around the flat, vanishing every few rounds into the nursery. It was starting to drive John crazy. He grabbed a fresh cup and stepped into Sherlock’s path, forcing it into his hands. “We will find him, love.”

Sherlock looked at the tea, then John. His eyes were dark and stormy. John leaned up to kiss him, for once not giving a damn who was in the flat with them.

Swallowing, Sherlock looked at the tea. “I can hardly believe there isn’t some clue I’ve overlooked.”

John put his hand on Sherlock’s arm. “Instead of orbiting the flat, why not sit and think. Go over what we do know. I’m sure Hamish is fine. They’ll probably contact us for a ra…ransom,” his heart caused his mouth to stutter a moment. He swallowed hard. “A ransom, soon, and that will be another clue.”

Grudgingly Sherlock took the tea and perched on the edge of his chair, setting the tea aside and steepling his fingers. John knew that look very well. He stepped over and squeezed Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder, wrung out himself.

“You should sleep, dear,” said Mrs. Hudson, squeezing his hand. “I know you’ve been up all night.”

John shook his head. “Not possible.” The dawn was just coming up out the windows. He couldn’t help but notice how the light fell on Hamish’s toys in the sitting room. Swallowing again, he picked up Sherlock’s forgotten tea and walked down to the nursery.

The room was just as he’d left it the night before, but without Hamish in it. Sighing he walked over and picked up the teddy bear from the bed. It had been a surprise gift from Mycroft. John more than half-suspected it had a recording device in it. Maybe it would provide them a clue. But so far Mycroft hadn’t shown up at the flat.

Suddenly, John’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Frowning, he pulled it out of his pocket and found there was a text. Setting down the bear, he turned away to read it. _Come to Red Lion Square. Alone. No weapons. And without telling anyone or being seen._

John stared at it, then pocketed his and closed his eyes a moment, worried for Sherlock as well as Hamish. But if this was what he had to do for their son, he’d do it.

Stepping out of the nursery, he peeked into the other room. Sherlock was still lost in thought, and his view of the door was blocked by a policeman. Mrs. Hudson was talking to Lestrade, and the other police seemed occupied. Taking a breath, John grabbed his jacket and slipped out the door as quietly as he could.

The day was cold and John walked quickly. Hopefully whoever had taken Hamish had bundled the little boy up against the weather. John rubbed his eyes. Had to stay calm and focus. Clearly they wanted to talk or communicate or something. Maybe they’d just make a demand. Whatever it was, John would do it.

Seeing a thrift shop, John got an idea. He stepped inside and emerged a few minutes later with a warmer coat. He was supposed to hide himself anyway, right? A few steps past the shop he dropped his other coat in an alley, hoping that whoever had Hamish wouldn’t realize what he was doing.

He arrived in the square and looked around, wondering what to do next. Someone pressed up behind him and he could feel the gun against his kidney. John stayed very still. “What do you want?”

A phone was passed to him and he looked down at a video of Hamish, looking scared and sucking his thumb. There was no audio, but it looked like he was asking for his fathers. John’s blood ran cold and he rather wished he could just murder the stranger behind him right then and there.

“He’s alive.” Man’s voice, good to know. Accent, but John couldn’t tell from where. “You will do as we say, and he will be returned.”

“What do I have to do?” John’s fists flexed and he sorely wished Sherlock was here. No doubt he’d know everything about the man already.

A package was stuck into his pocket. “We will be watching. Take that to Deptford. Walk.”

“That’ll take hours,” protested John.

The gun nudged his kidney. “Start then. Remember, we’re watching. Try to alert anyone…”

“Yes, I get it,” growled John. “Hurt my son and I’ll kill you.” _I’m going to kill you anyway._

The man said nothing, but John felt the gun vanish a moment before the pressure against his back. Taking a shaky breath, he turned to start walking, feeling the weight of the package in his pocket and the heavier weight of fear for his son.

**

Sherlock sat up suddenly. Heads turned to him. “John?” Sherlock called, standing up.

Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson shared a look. “Haven’t seen him in a bit. I’ll just see if he’s upstairs.” He headed up to see. The other officers started looking around the flat.

Sherlock picked up his phone and texted. Then texted again. And a third time, pacing in front of the couch. Lestrade came back empty handed and Sherlock raised the phone to his ear to call, drawing a very worried look between Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Getting no answer, Sherlock threw the phone down. “His phone isn’t in the flat,” he said, mostly to himself. “Did the kidnappers contact him?”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade took a step towards him.

Sherlock spun away. “Out! All of you.”

The other police looked at Lestrade, who nodded at them. They quickly scattered for the door. Mrs. Hudson stayed at the table and Lestrade stayed on his feet.

“Maybe he just stepped out for a minute,” Lestrade kept his voice quiet and calm, as if dealing with cornered animal.

Sherlock gave mirthless chuckle. “Then why didn’t he answer his phone?” He reached over suddenly and knocked some books to the floor. Before Lestrade could move he suddenly tipped over a chair, picking up another offending book and throwing it.

“Sherlock.” Lestrade tried to get his attention, but Sherlock as having none of it, throwing a mug next, that shattered next to the door, where Mycroft now suddenly stood.

Mycroft looked as put together as ever, umbrella in his hand. He took in the scene as Sherlock cast around for something else to throw or damage, then crossed the flat in a few quick steps, carefully picking up the violin.

Sherlock froze, staring at the instrument in his hands. “Destroying your flat won’t get your son or partner back, brother,” said Mycroft gently. “What we need to do is _think_.”


	3. Chapter 3

Johns hip and knee ached as he walked, determined look on his face. He searched the faces of strangers who passed him, looking for any sign and finding none. Sherlock should have his phone by now. He glanced at a CCTV camera, then looked down, remembering the warning.

His breath condensed in the cold, creating small clouds as he hurried. He took a step and slipped, twisting his knee and barely catching himself on a wall. Cursing, he looked around and limped into the chemist half a block up.

The door rang as he stepped inside. The place was fairly empty given the early hour. He made his way back to the restroom, glancing at himself in the mirror as he washed up. John’s eyes were worried and tired. Splashing cold water on his face he could feel the roughness where he hadn’t shaved. Sherlock would be solving this, he had to believe that. In the meantime he’d follow orders, hoping that was enough to keep Hamish safe.

Stepping back out, John grabbed some aspirin, water and a couple granola bars. A younger man bumped into him as he stepped up to pay. Stepping outside into the cold again, John took a couple aspirin and ripped open a bar before sticking his hand in his pocket. His heart stopped; the package was gone.

Taking a breath and closing his eyes, John remembered the man bumping into him. Of course. He looked around and saw an alley. Most likely place. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, he hurried to the alley. Sure enough the young man was working on ripping the package open.

John charged at the man. He turned at the last moment and reached for a knife. Grabbing his shoulders, John kneed him in the gut before grabbing the back of his head and sending him into the wall. The man stumbled back and John punched him. He dropped unconscious.

Panting, John bent to pick up the package. It was partially ripped open. Glancing around, John lifted the flap. “What the hell?”

It was nearly empty, just a metal bar to add some weight. Shaking his head, John stuffed it back into his pocket and turned to walk for Deptford again. So this was a ruse, something to just get him out of the way. John wasn’t sure if he should be angry or flattered. Either way, without anything else from the kidnappers, he had to keep walking. Hamish’s life might depend on it. He didn't even notice the homeless man panhandling outside the chemist.

**

In Baker street, a disturbed book dropped where the violin had stood a moment before. Sherlock took a breath, then another. He reached over and took the violin from Mycroft. "Leave us,” Mycroft ordered.

Lestrade glanced at Mrs. Hudson, then Sherlock. Squaring his shoulders he left. Mrs. Hudson touched Sherlock’s arm and followed.

Folding in on himself, Sherlock put the instrument back. "Go get dressed," said Mycroft with a bit of kindness in the order.

Obeying, Sherlock headed up the stairs. When he returned, Mycroft was standing in the front room holding the teddy bear. "Camera picked up John heading towards Red Lion Square on foot," he said without looking up. Tucking the bear under an arm, he grabbed Sherlock’s coat and handed it to him. "Let's go."

Mycroft walked down the stairs, Sherlock trailing behind, scanning for clues he might have missed. "The kidnapper contacted John, then," said Sherlock.

"Obviously," said Mycroft.

Sherlock gave his brother a look. "He would have gone this way." The cold street was beginning to move with morning traffic. Sherlock started walking, Mycroft beside him. He glanced at the bear. "What information will that give us?"

"Some audio. It doesn't record all the time."

"We did assume it recorded in some capacity." Sherlock scanned the path.

They walked in silence down the blocks, both looking for any signs John might have left them. "There." Sherlock darted into an alley, picking up Johns crumpled jacket.

Searching the pockets, he found a receipt for the coat John had bought. A quick glance at it and Sherlock stepped into the thrift shop, heading for the men's coats. He returned a few minutes later with Johns phone.

While Mycroft watched, Sherlock turned it on. There was the missed call and texts from Sherlock. Then the text telling him where to go and how.

Mycroft took the phone from him. "I'll have the number traced."

"No doubt they have already changed their location," said Sherlock as they moved down the street. "But it may still provide a clue."

Mycroft was already texting someone as they walked, glancing down occasionally at his mobile. Suddenly Sherlock shoved him into an alley, making him stumble half a moment before a bullet struck the bricks. Mycroft’s eyes went wide as he looked at Sherlock, facade cracked just a hair as he leaned against the wall.

Sherlock met his eyes as he regarded his brother. "I am not the target. You are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
